


The Artist

by honestgrins



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Klaroline Vacation Gift Exchange 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestgrins/pseuds/honestgrins
Summary: Caroline wakes up tied to a chair, with the creepy guy from the bar gloating over her. This can't be good. [Klaroline Vacation Gift Exchange Fic for bigbvdwolf (@bbatcats)]





	The Artist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigbvdwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbvdwolf/gifts).



Her eyelids feel too heavy, the lashes crusted with mascara that felt days old. When she finally manages to open her eyes, Caroline winces at the bright sunlight shining down on her; the handcuffs binding her wrists behind her back prevent her from blocking the piercing glare. Adding that to the uncomfortable wooden chair and the drugs that must have worn off as she slept, her head was absolutely killing her with a terrible migraine.

God, getting kidnapped sucked.

"Morning, Blondie," a smarmy voice greets her, something familiar about it. Her head rolls to the side where she can see the creepy guy from last night leaning against the stone wall. What was his name? Derek, Dayton- Something with a D. The bar had been dark, but bad vibes rolled off him and she had steered clear of his staring - or so she'd thought. Her breath picks up at a panicky pace when he just smiles. "Not a morning person?"

"What did you do to me?" she bites out, pulling helplessly at her restraints. "Who are you?"

He's weaving a small knife through his knuckles, like it was a totally normal hobby to have. Caroline blinks in terror, trying to remember the self-defense classes her mom had forced her to take throughout high school. Unfortunately, she had won the fight to stop going once she moved to campus, so sure that the good sheriff was overestimating the dangers lurking about Whitmore College.

Watching the knife carefully, Caroline hopes her mom gets the chance to say, "I told you so." The fact he seems so comfortable showing his face? Not a good sign.

"Don't worry." He scoffs at her incredulous look. "You're a ransom job, the worst that might happen is you lose a finger or two. We've already taken the photos and sent our first demand, so you have about forty-six hours left to relax."

Her mind racing, Caroline tries to put a voice to her thoughts. "Someone hired you to kidnap me for ransom. But my mom doesn't have any money, and I'm a sophomore journalism student with nothing but debt. What could you possibly want from us?"

Stepping closer, he lets a lingering hand push an oily strand of hair behind her ear. "From you? Nothing but your father's cooperation," he answers. "Bill Forbes has led a fabulously secretive life despite running for Senate. To think, no one even knew he had another daughter."

Caroline scowls, jerking her head away from him at the new information. She can feel the rage buzzing in her veins. "Seriously?!"

It had been years since she'd spoken to her dad, and not just because he walked out on her and her mom. While she couldn't begrudge him for being true to himself and finding love with Steven, Caroline hated that he needed to move to Georgia to do it. That Steven had a daughter her age was just the icing on the cake. Still, she had done the obligatory summer visits and shared holidays - until the campaign started. Caroline had suddenly become a dirty secret best confined to Virginia, a daughter he so willingly left behind the one murky spot in his pristine, modern family values image.

And now she was being punished for it all over again, somehow in a worse way than the utter rejection she had dealt with years earlier.

"Okay, I don't know what you want my dad to do," she spits out, "but he won't care."

The guy shrugs, apparently unconcerned. "I get paid no matter what, Blondie. Senator Forbes has made some powerful enemies in Washington, and they wanted leverage. Tag, you're it."

"So, what? He pays the ransom and you let me go, no harm done?" She laughs, the thread of panic making the sound shrill. "Yeah, right. You're probably just keeping me alive until you no longer need proof I'm okay."

His icy eyes narrow shrewdly, and she feels cold all over. "You're smarter than I expected."

Caroline rolls her eyes, the skeevy impression from last night coming back full force. "Oh, good. That's what this kidnapping needed, blonde jokes. Do I get fed anytime soon? Water would also be nice."

"Listen," he hisses, and Caroline straightens at the implied threat in his voice. "I can play nice for the grace period, but in a couple of days I have options. I can bring my brother in to do the work on the second demand, we call him the Ripper. Silent and calm as he goes about removing body parts."

Freezing, Caroline fights the urge to throw up. The D.C. metro area had something of a penchant for naming high-profile criminals; her friend Enzo had turned them into a comic strip for their school paper, just a collegiate jab at would-be supervillains. The Professor. The Artist.  _The Ripper_. The joke that he tore his victims apart and put them back together because his daddy took away his Legos didn't seem so funny anymore.

Lips brush her ear as her captor leans closer, her body cringing in fear and disgust when a hand lands on her wrist and squeezes. "Lose the attitude, or lose an arm. I think this one, with the pretty little bird tattoo to help identify you. It's your choice."

With that, he pulls away and stalks from the room. The heavy door slams behind him and Caroline can't help but shake as the adrenaline continues to course through her. Focusing on her mother's advice over the years, though, she manages to slow her breathing until she has a grip on the overwhelming panic. Her eyes drift over every corner of the room, taking inventory of what might be useful in her escape.

Caroline Forbes wasn't going to let these fuckers take her without a fight.

* * *

Keys rattle on the other side of the door, and Caroline slowly rolls her head up from where it had hung against her chest. The door swings open to reveal another man, this one with brassy curls and a cool sense of detachment as his eyes rove over her form.

His gaze feels almost clinical, and she sags further into the chair, uncertain. "Who are you? What happened to that creep?" she asks, her voice raspy after hours without water.

The deeply pink lips tug upward, but no answer. Instead, he moves around her slowly and bends to examine the cuffs keeping her hostage. More rattling of keys, then a warm hand grazes hers; Caroline flinches at the contact, though he seems unconcerned. The lock clicks open, loud in the silence of the cell. She can feel callouses on his hand as he frees her wrists from the harsh metal, and she can't help but whisper, "Thank you."

Then, she twists sharply to whip her arm around and makes contact with his head. Powering through the blow to his ear, she causes him to stumble. Before she can get to her feet on weak legs, however, the man is suddenly in front of her with a solid grip on her arms.

"Enough," he ordered tersely, pure violence held captive in the taut muscles of his hands as they remained completely still. "I won't hurt you, love, unless you're determined to become a problem."

The accent throws her off, it's nothing like the dick from earlier. But Caroline struggles in his hold as soon as she processes what he just said. "Excuse you," she sneered, "I don't make a habit of letting strange men kidnap me, and you can't just cart me around like a prize horse. My dad's business is his own, leave me the hell out of it!" With that, she goes completely limp, her mother's voice reminding her to wear him out.

Even as he was forced to drop her, the mystery Brit hardly seemed fazed. "Throw your tantrum if you must, but we have about three minutes to get past the Salvatores' security," he explains, glancing out to the hallway beyond the cell. "And that's if there are no surprises."

From the ground, Caroline tries once again to swat at him, but he just pulls her outstretched arms until she stands.

"KLAUS!"

The shout came from down the hall, and he took advantage of her brief shock to gently push her against the stone wall, right next to the still open door. With a large hand pressed over her mouth, his expression had turned eerily placating. "Just wait," he silently demands.

Caroline's eyes widen, though she makes no move to fight the press of his body against hers. Her little black dress from the night before is riding high on her thighs, and she can feel the rough scrape of his jeans on her legs. It's distracting, unhelpfully so as the voice outside was still yelling and she was still being held captive.

"Klaus, show yourself!"

Slowly, the mystery man she assumes is Klaus backs away from her with a significant look to stay put. He steps just outside the door, where she can't see, but his voice has turned charming. "Ripper," he all but coos, "did you get my gift?"

There's a rush of feet and a muttered, "You son of a bitch," followed by the noise of displaced air.

Caroline assumes a punch had been thrown, but she's too scared to try and watch. Pressing herself tighter to the wall, she clutches at her stomach in fear.

"Come now, mate." Klaus was speaking again, unerringly calm. "You knew Damon had gone too far with his treatment of my dear sister. His punishment was always coming, and I only drew it out a little. I even tried to give his death the poetry I knew only you would appreciate."

His words are punctuated by small strains, and Caroline imagines he must be working hard to dodge the fists undoubtedly coming his way. A loud thud shocks her, and a lanky form of the unknown assailant falls into the cell.

Wiping blood from his lip, the Ripper glances up to see her shaking. She's terrified, having seen the appalling crime scene photos that littered the news along with his nickname. Damon, the skeevy guy from the bar, was his brother. God, what a twisted tree they must have fallen from.

Klaus walks in, pushing the sleeves of his Henley over his elbows. "I've taken the liberty of tying up Damon's loose ends, including Miss Forbes here. He's never been good about covering his tracks, and he didn't even notice me watching him last night. All these years, and you still let your brother accost young women in bars." He clucks his tongue like a nagging mother. "I'm disappointed, Stefan."

"Like you care," Stefan spits. "If he hadn't gone after Rebekah-"

"But he did." His voice menacingly soft, Klaus stares down at the Ripper. "And he lost his hands for touching her. His eyes for the leers that made her shiver in fear. His tongue, for daring to speak her name."

Caroline could feel the tears building, a sick feeling rising in her throat. These men, so casually discussing crimes, were violently evil - and she was only standing at the mercy of the one who had tried to free her. Her eyes shifting to the doorway, she wonders if she could escape while they were otherwise occupied, one bare foot already inching along the dusty floor.

Without turning, Klaus speaks again. "Go ahead, love. I have no need for the paltry payouts Damon Salvatore finds desirable."

A part of her recoils at the dismissal, if only because of the insult implied. Rather than arguing over the worth of her ransom with a dangerous criminal, though, Caroline takes the chance to run while she has it.

But she stops dead in the hallway as two scary thoughts hit her. One, Klaus had mentioned security, and she really didn't want to deal with more goons who were probably pissed he dismembered their boss. And two-

Caroline stomps angrily back into the cell, where Klaus is kneeling to pin Stefan to the ground and dragging a small knife down the length of his neck. "Wait," she orders, hands spread on her hips in defiance. "Someone hired these assholes to kidnap me, and I want to know who."

"Bloodthirsty little thing, aren't you?" Klaus looks over his shoulder, a more calculating tint to his gaze as he takes in her expression.

"When it means someone else might come along to finish the job, yeah," she snaps, rolling her eyes at the amusement she sees in his.

Turning back to the Ripper, Klaus cants his head to the side. "Who ordered the ransom?" He digs the knife into skin, Stefan hissing as blood seeps to the surface. "I was here for your brother, it makes no difference to me whether your death is quick or slow. Answer to the lady's concerns and I may show you mercy."

His mouth pinched in tense consideration, Stefan chokes out a strained, "It doesn't matter." Caroline shivers when he meets her eyes, but she tries to remain strong. "The order was to kill you regardless of the outcome, and your father repeatedly refused the demands. As far as anyone knows, you're already dead."

Hot tears blur her vision as she struggles not to blink, even though she knows in her gut he's telling the truth. She drops her voice low, focused on the silver glint of the knife stained with red, "Do it."

With his back to her, she can just make out Klaus's small shrug of laughter. "You are very confident, I'll give you that," he murmurs, his chin slanting toward her. "I'm feeling generous, Ripper. Any last words?"

"Just finish it." The sighed plea gurgles a bit, Klaus having already plunged the knife deep into his throat.

Despite the murder he has just committed, Klaus seems at ease as he stands to approach her. "You're ashen," he notes, stepping an inch too close. He smirks when she glares at their proximity; his smile widens when she tentatively accepts his proffered arm. Together, they walk out of the cell toward what Caroline hopes is freedom. "Come, even dead girls need to eat. You can tell me all about your dear father and why the Salvatores were willing to sacrifice such beauty for mere money."

Too busy cringing at the gaudy mansion Klaus lead her through, it takes Caroline a long moment to process what he said. "Seriously?" she scoffed, digging her nails into his elbow. "I was kidnapped from my favorite bar, for a ransom my dad would never care to pay, and the only one who bothered to save me is a criminal who just murdered someone in front of me. Even if I ever manage to feel safe in my surroundings again, I'm too smart to be seduced by you."

"I know," he replies smoothly. Leaning over, he intimately whispers, "That's why I like you."

"Ugh," Caroline groans, though she can't help the blush warming her face at the blatant charm. The dimples should come with warning signs, and she should probably work on her taste in men. But first, she needed a more immediate plan. "Okay, so food, preferably a shower and more comfortable clothes. Then what? Can I even go home if everyone thinks I'm dead?"

Klaus shrugs, leading her out of the house and toward a large SUV. "A miraculous return would draw attention," he admits. "You might incite another attempt on your life."

"But my mom, my friends-" She breaks off as she settles in the passenger seat, tears clogging her throat.

He's crowding her space, his arms braced against the frame of her still open door. She can't define the subtle expressions flashing through his eyes, but his whole face appears to soften at her obvious distress. "I have a safe house nearby, you could call your mother and explain what happened."

Eyeing him suspiciously, Caroline shrinks away from his intense presence. "Why?"

"So she knows you're alive," he deadpans.

"No," she rolls her eyes again. "Why are you helping me? You don't know me, and what I know of you isn't a great recommendation. You're a murderer."

He smirks. "Only when the occasion calls for it. Thievery and forgery are my main trades."

Realization dawns in Caroline's mind, and she blinks away flashes of the comics Enzo draws. Only one villain claimed forger in their criminal resume. "You're the Artist."

Meticulous plans and elaborate displays, the Artist's crime scenes almost always make the first page of the paper with a splashy photo and cheesy, art pun headline. "Dali Drama" was a break-in at some fancy clock shop, where the owner found his entire inventory strategically melted and placed to emulate a surrealist painting. It sounded like a prank to Caroline, except the police investigation turned up evidence of embezzlement tied to a shady organization. The case and others tied to the Artist usually had an ulterior motive to the superficial glitz of it all - if not a body or two, as well.

"You've heard of me?" Klaus looks positively delighted. "Fantastic."

Forcing herself to remain calm, Caroline met his eyes and refused to waver at his amusement. "Are you going to kill me?"

He lets one hand fall to play with a loose curl hanging by her shoulder. "I saved you," he points out. "Do you really think that low of me?"

Caroline's spine straightens on instinct, her expression hard. "Yes."

Smirking, Klaus steps back and moves to close her door. Before it slams shut, he shrugs, "We'll have to work on that."

* * *

Hours later, and Caroline still feels shaky from her ordeal.

Klaus had taken her to the safe house, surprisingly a normal-looking house in a suburban neighborhood not thirty minutes from where she had been held captive. The guest suite was hers, he had promised, with a door she could keep locked and a private bathroom. After a long shower, she found a pair of yoga pants and a worn Henley set just outside her room - even though she had left the door unlocked.

The reinforcement of boundaries helped her relax, enough to get the sleep she sorely needed after spending a night tied to a chair. Upon waking, though, Caroline has no idea what to do or why the Artist was so intent on helping her.

Like her heavy thoughts had called him, a knock raps through the door. "Caroline, I ordered dinner," he calls from the other side. "The food is here, if you're hungry."

She is, ravenously so, but something irks at her. Ripping open the door, she pins him with a glare stemming from the suspicion she can't let go. "You know my name," she accuses. "You know my name is Caroline Forbes because you watched Damon kidnap me last night."

Studying her features, Klaus nods once. "The Salvatores are codependent to their core, even if they hate each other at times. Had I killed Damon at the bar, Stefan would have retaliated. By trailing him back to their mansion, I was able to take them both out with minimal effort." He turns and starts walking down the hallway, leaving her to gape after him. "Come on, you must be starving."

Spurred into action, Caroline stomps in the same direction yelling, "Aren't you supposed to be some slick, super criminal? Property holdings are literally a matter of state records, anyone can research them. What, no nerdy sidekicks to drain of brain power?"

"I prefer to work alone," he answers easily, not offended in the slightest. She finds him in a pretty dining room, opening a box of steaming pizza. He puts a couple slices on a plate and hands it to her, nodding for her to sit. "As for your suggestion, pulling records draws attention, especially if the clerks have been bribed by the hunted party."

Caroline fights a moan at the first solid food she's had since the bowl of cereal she quickly ate before heading to the bar. Once she swallows her bite, she gives him an unimpressed look. "So hire an assistant. Don't let girls get kidnapped for your own ends."

Smiling, Klaus fills his own plate with pizza. "Apologies, love."

Her eyes drop at the note of affection in his voice, confusion filling her once more. "I still don't know why you saved me, or why you're taking care of me now."

The quiet is deafening after her confession, and she tries not to panic at what his lack of an answer means. Instead, she focuses on the pizza eating slowly so as not to upset her empty stomach. On her third bite, though, he clears his throat.

"Impulse, I suppose," he finally responds. "You surprised me with your strength and tenacity."

"I hit you."

"Yes," Klaus chuckles, "but you were smart about it. I can work with smart."

She blinks at the implication. "You want me to work for you?"

Pushing away his plate, Klaus dabs at his mouth with a napkin. "I did a little research of my own while you rested. Journalism student, top of your class, a slew of extracurriculars that scream organizational skills."

"Why?" she challenges again, blushing at the warm expression that floods his face.

"You can do so much more than planning parties, love," he murmured. "I'm not one for petty crimes, there's always a deeper meaning."

She nods, having already known that. "You go after people tied to Mikaelson Industries," she says, remembering the shady company that somehow remained unsaid in all those newspaper articles. "My best friend is a little obsessed with you, wrote a comic book and everything. I helped with the research, saw a common theme in your crimes."

"The ones they found," he corrects. "I have a number of successful forgeries in place of the real paintings I keep in my various safehouses. But that's not my point." His head cants to the side, impressed intrigue in his eyes. "You're smarter than you let on, and I could use you to bring down my father."

Her jaw drops open, the glass of water she'd been holding wavering in her hand. "Your father?"

Klaus smiles at her reaction. "We have more in common than you think, sweetheart, terrible father figures is just the start." He reaches his hand toward her with a genial smile. "Klaus Mikaelson, black sheep of the family and determined to ruin Mikael's empire."

Caroline glances down to his hand, the strange urge to accept stifled only by the complete craziness of her situation. So she takes another bite of her pizza, chewing slowly as he waits. Washing it down with a sip of water, she pointedly crosses her arms. "Tell me everything I need to know."

With a wicked smirk, Klaus starts at the beginning.

* * *

Time moves faster than Caroline realizes, and she falls asleep on the living room sofa as Klaus finally details his next target. She's jostled awake when he gently picks her up. Despite the terror and anger that remains from her kidnapping, she can't help but feel safe when Klaus cradles her close to his chest.

Her bed is comfy, though, and she sighs in relief as he tucks her in. "Thank you," she whispers tiredly into the dark room.

If she didn't know any better, she would swear she felt lips brush across her forehead. But the door creaks as it shuts, leaving her completely alone.

It surprises her how much she wanted him to stay.


End file.
